Las Amazonas

My third grade teacher was big into hands-on projects, the main one being decorating the classroom as the Amazon Rainforest and holding our own Carnivale parade with homemade instruments. We spent weeks studying the ecology of the rainforest and covering the walls and ceilings with butcher paper vines, trees, leaves, and a who menagerie of animals. The teacher even brought in her pet scarlet and green macaws for a day.

In hindsight, this was a huge fire hazard, macaws are not really intended to be pets, and an incident with the scarlet macaw sparked a lifelong distrust of birds. However, this also ignited a lifelong desire to visit the Amazon and see some of these flora and fauna in a fantastic jungle adventure.

Being on my own in Ecuador seemed like the ideal opportunity to dip my toe in the vast ecological wonderland that is the Amazon Rainforest. And while an organized group tour isn’t quite the fantastic adventure my eight-year-old self may have envisioned, it is the only way to go and see this protected area.  I was also lucky enough to spend my four-day journey with an excellent group and an incredibly enthusiastic guide.

One of two protected areas in the Ecuadorian portion of the Amazon, Cuyabeno reserve covers about 1.5 million acres and, thanks to its elevation, is home to five different ecological zones. On the Hormiga River, which flows into the Amazon River and eventually all the way to the Atlantic Ocean, the reserve is also home to five indigenous groups and hundreds of species of fauna.

The Caiman Lodge, a little over an hour downriver from the reserve entrance, is an eco-friendly space of thatch and bamboo, strewn with hammocks, its observation tower stretching above the surrounding trees. During meals we were joined by a pair of green Amazon parrots looking to scavenge our leftovers (and usually succeeding); reintroduced to the wild after being kept as pets, the birds were accustomed to relying on humans.

The trip included a visit to the local Siona village to see traditional bread being made and hear a Shaman speak briefly on their customs. The bread is made entirely from cassava (yuca) root, which we harvested in the pouring rain. The root is then peeled, cleaned, ground, wrung dry, and made into a large, thin pancake cooked on pottery over an open flame. After the meal, the Shaman sat down to explain the local customs and how he (and his three brothers) learned from his grandfather the ways of a shaman. All told, it was both touristy and highly interesting.

But the main event, the magically breathtaking main event, was the wildlife. From being awoken by the calls of howler monkeys to the ever-present drone of cicadas and calls of birds, we spent four days surrounded by nature. We paddled, boated, swam, and squished through mud and water in knee high rubber boots. Massive troupes of squirrel monkeys leapt through trees, pairs of yellow and blue macaws cruised overhead, anacondas sunned themselves in branches, pink river dolphins surfaced briefly before cruising downriver, sloths existed lazily.

It may not have been exactly what my eight-year-old self pasted all over the walls of a classroom, but it certainly was an awe-inspiring experience. Definitely worth all the bug bites and early mornings. 

Rhinos, and Tigers, and Bears! Oh My!

We started running. We started running while trying to be as quiet as possible. On gravel. Toward the supposed location of a rhinoceros.

If you had been present for the morning debriefing on how to behave in the event that we were attacked by a tiger, sloth bear, or rhinoceros, you would be questioning our decision to run at a dangerous animal. I know I was.

After a leisurely canoe trip and two hours walking through the jungle, plunging through towering, eight-foot-tall elephant grass, and following meandering paths to check various watering holes, our “guarantee 100% you see rhino” was beginning to seem less and less likely. And the heat of the Nepali plains was gearing up, inching its way up toward 110. So when another tour guide alerted our guide about a nearby rhinoceros, running commenced.

Now, as awe-inspiring as it was to crouch in the underbrush watching this armored truck of an animal, one of only 503 known to be in Nepal, it was also slightly distressing. And I do mean in more ways than only the fear of being charged by such a behemoth.

Who are we to be invading this creature’s space? To be building resorts and campgrounds within their territory? To be stalking them as they lounge in a murky pool trying to beat the midday blaze? What hubris allows us to think we are powerful enough to stalk them unprotected and on foot?

Nature Reserves and National Parks are not zoos. Perhaps if the animals are not easily visible from the safety of a vehicle, we should leave them be. After all, I don’t go tracking grizzlies unarmed in the U.S. National Parks carrying only a walking stick. 

Mexicanyon

Cañon del Sumidero, in the Mexican state of Chiapas, makes for a lovely day trip. Seen either from above via scenic lookout points, or below on the river snaking along the canyon floor, the canyon is roughly a kilometer deep in places.

Rock walls tower overhead, striped with striations telltale of age, cacti springing forth from any small foothold. Green waters lazily slip through the canyon’s gaping throat making its way downriver, passing from brutal sun to chilling shade. Hawks circle overhead; vultures hobble on rocky shores; ducks float and dive; herons stand tall and erect.

The canyon is reminiscent of the American Southwest, a calling card from home, bringing forth a vague nostalgia. Only nowhere in Colorado or New Mexico do crocodiles lounge on the riverbanks. Nor do monkeys swing in our trees, luxuriously out of reach. 

Los Estoraques

One perk of being the only foreigners in an area is seeing things not mentioned in our handy, though limited, Lonely Planet. And, as an added bonus of working in exchange for just room and board, every weekend is a three-day weekend ripe with opportunity to do so. A twenty five-dollar roundtrip taxi ride put us at one of Colombia’s Unique Natural Areas, Los Estoraques. Hello, Friday.

Situated 10 kilometers off the main road, the park is guarded by the tiny town of La Playa de Bélen.  A kilometer farther up the road lies the entrance to Los Estoraques, though the massive stone formations surrounding Playa and interrupting nearby farms have been flashing by like the coming attractions.

With only a small building and no real entrance fee, only the ANU (área naturale única) sign and the presence of a volunteer tour guide indicate that this is, in fact, a national park.The park’s massive towers and sprawling network of narrow canyons is the work of erosion. Sandstone looms overhead in peaks and spires, its warm colors contrasting sharply against the day’s crisp azul sky.

Our guide, naturally a Spanish speaker who doesn’t realize or understand that only half our party speaks Spanish, insists on relaying all information to Win and I, in addition to our Colombian companions. We nod and ooh and ahh in all the right places, following pointing fingers as he points out rocks that look like monkeys, lions, and kings. We wait patiently for Camilo’s translations, or simply wander on along the path.

He leads us up a steep flight of stairs cordoned off with bright yellow caution tape, surely just there to discourage those who have opted not to use a guide. Or so one hopes. Up, through, and around we make our way to the top of a hill for a bird’s eye view of the valley. Seen from above it is as though one were looking down on a cityscape carved from clay, etched into stone. Mock skyscrapers cluster together interlaced with patches of trees.

As we make our way back down, the path, simply the work of past rains, weaves between and around the rough sandstone giants. They tower overhead, blocking the harsh sun, as we scamper and explore alleys and caves.

We return to La Playa de Bélen, catching a ride in the back of a pickup (although as the only female I am offered a place in the cab, and therefore partake in some awkward conversation between myself and four Spanish-speaking men).

Winding cobblestone streets lined with blindingly white buildings topped by rust-colored terracotta roofs make up this tiny town, no more than three streets wide and petering out after maybe ten blocks. A dry fountain stands ready in the central park. The shade of nearby trees and shopfronts offer a bit of respite where one can enjoy some horchata and jalea, a surprisingly delicious local candy made from cow hooves and sugar.

As the taxi snakes its way back toward Ocaña, immaculate hills and farms roll past the windows, mountains fading to sky in the background. Amazingly interesting geology, spotless little towns, and incredible scenery: what more could one want for a Friday morning?

Rainforest Expedition

Among the numerous forests and national reserves, the Sinharaja Rainforest Reserve stood out to us, after all how often do you get to visit a rainforest? We opted to book our rainforest trek through our guesthouse, which turned out to be excellent foresight. The tuk-tuk ride to the entrance of the national park took nearly an hour, bumping over flood-damaged roads, massive chunks of pavement torn up and left unrepaired.

Our guide was a local 21-year-old who had been working as a registered Unesco guide since the age of 16. He obviously loved his job, and who wouldn’t? His sole purpose was to walk around a rainforest with tourists pointing out birds, trees, plants and wildlife; his positivity and absolute awe spilled over, sometimes to the point that his English started to jumble, and made for a lively, enjoyable walk. From wild coffee, cinnamon, and lime leaves to massive palms, enormous spiral trunks, and tiny plants that would close their leaves when you brushed against them, he reveled in the greenery all about.

To safe guard against leeches, we stuffed our pants into our socks and covered our shoes with salt. Luckily it wasn’t a rainy day, so the leeches were fewer in number. I come from a world in which leeched are big nasty black blobs, roughly the size of your thumb. So I wasn’t sure what all the fuss was about, I mean, it’s not like you can’t see them.

Apparently, this is not true of all the leeches in the world. After taking a picture of what I thought was just a cute inch worm trying to resemble a stick, I was told that, nope, that would be a Sri Lankan leech! And, they were busy using the stillness of my photo op as a chance to climb up and into my shoes. Hiding between leaves, sticking to the soles of my shoes, and even trying to shimmy in through the mesh along the sides of my sneakers (thanks, ventilated running shoes), even on a dry day the leeches were bad.

After de-leeching, our path led us to a river. We removed our shoes and crossed through waist deep waters, following the path farther along to a lovely waterfall. Our guide and Win went for a dip, but having not thought to wear a bathing suit I skipped it, choosing instead to lounge on the riverside boulders.

In his tracking of animals, birds, and reptiles, our guide was relentless. He wandered in front of us, eyes always alert and roaming the foliage. We watched giant squirrels, the national animal of Sri Lanka, leap through the trees, the biggest reaching three or four feet, nose to bushy tail.

We tried to sneak up on kangaroo lizards and hump-nose lizards. He told us about cicadas and giant snails, introduced us to some crabs living inside a tree trunk, and pointed out all manner of creatures. We even spotted several kingfishers, flitting past, beautiful in bright blue, a rare sight I am told.

Since there aren’t many big animals in the Sinharaja Reserve, he made sure to point out the local monkey population, but saved the reptiles for his grand finale. He spotted a green vine snake, which we picked up immediately upon learning that it isn’t poisonous. Vibrant lime green, the small snake twisted and spiraled, coiling around our fingers. He also found a pit viper, but since it is “medium poisonous” (“two minutes, go to sleep”), we left it alone.

It wasn’t the safari experience that many people aim for. There might not have been leopards or elephants, and I’m not really sure why it is called Sinharaja (Sinhalese for “lion king” when there certainly weren't lions), but our rainforest walk was just what we were looking for: low-key, intimate, and relaxed.